


Funny

by chainofclovers



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-16
Updated: 2011-01-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 00:35:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainofclovers/pseuds/chainofclovers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a brief scene (502 words) written last week in response to Telanu's requests for the Five Acts Challenge.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Funny

**Author's Note:**

> This is a brief scene (502 words) written last week in response to Telanu's requests for the Five Acts Challenge.

“It’s okay to want more,” Andy whispered.

Funny words, those. Funny words to speak to a woman who lived on 73rd Street, in a house tended by a housekeeper. One look from Miranda could change a designer’s entire season. One question from Miranda and a hundred people raced to find the answer. One demand, a hundred results. Miranda often wanted, and got, more.

Funny words for Andy to speak to a woman who used to decide how much Andy had: how much money in her bank account, how much self-worth, how much dignity.

They weren’t on 73rd Street tonight. Miranda and Andy were in Brooklyn, in Andy’s new apartment, lying half under the covers in Andy’s bed. (“Please come over,” Andy had said to Miranda over the phone a few hours before. “I spent most of the day staring at Swedish diagrams, and they, like, guided me to the place I am now, which is sitting on my new bed. I’m not sleeping in it alone on its first night.”) There wasn’t much to the bedroom yet. Window cracked open against the heat. Familiar red digits explaining 10:30, then 10:31. A neat stack of cardboard boxes in one corner. A suitcase propped against the closet door. Even in the dark, you could tell the room was the off-white of an old apartment starting over. Andy was aware of these things, even though her eyes were on Miranda. She committed the feeling of them to memory, the glimmering basics of a new place.

Funny, too, that she and Miranda together were the detail that had carried over, the thing she brought with her when she moved.

Miranda had come maybe a minute prior, her head against the headboard, her back up on the pillow, Andy hovering above, kissing Miranda’s shoulder and working her fingers gently and patiently and happily between Miranda’s legs. She’d been quiet about it--new place--but Andy could tell it was good. She left her hand in place while Miranda came down, and now Miranda’s thighs were holding it there.

“It’s okay,” Andy said again, right into Miranda’s ear. “Tell me. I’ll keep going.”

Miranda shrugged her shoulders and squirmed her hips. She glanced at Andy and looked away just as quickly, down their bodies and towards the foot of the bed. Andy kept going. Miranda breathed harder, Miranda got wetter, Miranda said “Oh, fuck!” as she came. It was a funny choice, if you thought about it, like saying “Oh, lunch!” at lunch or “Oh, subway!” on the train. Miranda didn’t often come twice. It was hard for her to ask for it, and Andy suspected she worried about how long it took her, though it was fast tonight.

This time, Andy pulled out her fingers and rested her hand against Miranda’s shaky thigh. “I love you,” she said, like almost always.

“I love you,” Miranda replied. She did love Andy. She’d already made Andy come twice, Andy who loved asking for more. “I like your new place.”


End file.
